Perfect
by K9Lasko
Summary: Tony loves food; Gibbs loves that Tony loves food.


**Written for Sara's (thecookiemomma) Slashy Valentine challenge. There's no Valentine's Day theme going on here, though.**

Title: "Perfect"  
Rating: FR 18 (for swearing and sexual situations)  
Genre: Romance, humor  
Pairing: Gibbs/DiNozzo, fairly established relationship

Summary: Tony loves food; Gibbs loves that Tony loves food.

* * *

Gibbs is looking over the top of this morning's fourth cup of coffee when he says, quite suddenly, "You look fit today."

Tony's mid-chew on a rather large bite of banana. He stares at Gibbs from the other end of the table, a banana string stuck to his lower lip. He's still wearing his running shorts and a grey t-shirt soaked black with sweat. He swallows and says, "Thanks for noticing." Then he resumes chewing and looks away from the scrutiny.

But Gibbs is still sipping his coffee and looking over that USMC mug, free hand resting idle on the table top.

Staring. Thinking.

And Tony can't help but think he's judging, too.

He finishes the banana and gets up to throw out the peel. "I'm gonna shower, Boss."

Gibbs grunts, takes another sip of the scalding tar water, and gets back to reading the paper. He always waits for Tony in the mornings now. Tony is always the one to get ready last, and Gibbs appreciates the quiet time between getting up and heading to work.

Nearly an hour later - Gibbs keeps time, for his own amusement - Tony rushes down the steps, fully coiffed and dressed for work. "Late again," he pants, as he looks for his wallet.

"Need this?" Gibbs holds the wallet up for him. Then he points at the table.

Tony looks and finds a piece of toast slathered in peanut butter. "What's this?"

"For you," Gibbs says, already heading for the door. "Grab it and let's go."

* * *

Nothing happens at work. Although some asshole does bring cupcakes and leaves them in the breakroom. Gibbs makes sure Tony eats two, which isn't hard to do. Both DiNozzo and McGee share that insatiable sweet tooth trait. McGee eats one and saves another for Abby, who'll coo over the sweet gesture and keep the damn thing sitting on her desk all afternoon until McGee eats it himself anyway.

Or maybe it's Tony who eats it. What's a third when you've already had two?

* * *

It's a Monday night, and Tony has made his world famous spaghetti bolognese, which is just fancy-speak for pasta slathered in Prego sauce and parmesan cheese.

"No more for me," Tony says patting his stomach.

Gibbs serves him up another plate, and Tony eats it because he's Tony and if it's in front of him, he'll eat it. Tony drinks red wine, while Gibbs sticks with his bourbon neat.

"Now I'm serious. No more," Tony says, frowning at Gibbs. "Christ, you're worse than an Italian grandma."

Tony does the dishes, too, knowing Gibbs likes to put in a couple quiet basement-hours on weekdays. Tonight, though, the schedule has changed, because Gibbs presses up against Tony at the sink, hands gripping his hips and squeezing his lovehandles. He talks into Tony's ear. "Hey you."

It's an open invitation, and for a Monday night, the couch is a good enough venue. Gibbs fucks Tony's thighs the way Tony likes to be fucked - a little hard, a little rough.

Gibbs runs his hands up and down Tony's naked sides. He likes to focus on that area; he focuses on it a lot, always the same gripping and the same squeezing. Maybe it's just some odd sexual obsession of Gibbs'. Tony never brings it up, not wanting to embarrass him. After all, they've both done some weird things to each other. Experimental things. And sometimes they work. Sometimes they don't.

It's often like that when you're learning something new.

Gibbs grips him too hard; short nails bite into tender skin. "Ow," Tony complains as he yanks the offending hand away. "Go easy, will ya?"

* * *

Tony has found that he likes being told what to do during sex. It's unexpected and exciting, and it's broken him from the usual routine he goes through with all of the women he's slept with.

The first time they have sex, it's more a comedy of errors than an attempt at romantic passion - not like either of them are into ripping each other's metaphorical bodices. But they at least have the right intentions, if not the smooth, flawless script.

Neither one comes from much guy-on-guy experience. Just Gibbs' few homoerotic moments in high school and Tony's slightly more risque jackoff sessions with boarding school peers. Although Tony has admitted that he'd gone pretty far with one of them. Once. He can't remember his name. Been a while, he says.

Gibbs knows there's a thin line between can't and won't, but he also knows there's a thick (and necessary) line between him and DiNozzo. This is a relationship, not an interrogation vital to national security.

Good fences make good neighbors and even better lovers.

So Gibbs keeps on fetishizing Tony's love handles, kneading them like bread dough set for the oven, and Tony keeps his trap shut over it, which is a feat in and of itself.

* * *

Tony looks at his naked self in the mirror and scowls.

DiNozzos do not diet, because DiNozzos do not get fat. That's the rule, hard and fast.

When he was younger, he never had to worry. His metabolism ran as fast as a greyhound, and considering his activity level, keeping weight on was more of the challenge. But now that he's older, his greyhound-fast metabolism has begun to pull up lame. And while Tony used to love the gym and going on runs, these days it's a bit of a chore. The gym he likes has been so crowded lately and running too long in the cold makes him wheeze like a punctured bagpipe.

Then there's that problem with food. He likes to eat it. Who doesn't?

But he's been working hard over the past weeks. Really, really hard. He's been running more. Going to the gym more. Eating less, or at least better.

He knows it's stupid, but he's been comparing his body to Gibbs'. Spending so much time with another guy naked will do that. Tony still can't get over how fit Gibbs is. There's no fat on Gibbs' body, not like Tony's which has grown soft over the years, especially around his belly and hips and ass. He knows this is also stupid, but the whole extra chub issue has made him self-conscious in a way he can't ever remember being. And because Gibbs is so single-mindedly enamored with his love handles, Tony is even doubly self-conscious over them.

That's why he lost the weight, because he wants to live up to Gibbs' standard of fitness. And it's maddening because Gibbs doesn't even seem to try, yet Tony's been busting his ass for weeks now. Actually busting his ass. God, by the time he's fifty, he's gonna be Oompa-Loompa material. He'll end up that guy the women look at and say, "But you're so sweet." Except Tony's notsweet, so he'll end up being the fat jerk.

No, damn it! He's Tony DiNozzo! Sex machine! Perma-fit! Athlete extraordinaire!

He'd been doing so well with the whole diet and exercise thing. But today, looking at himself, he sees a bit of a reversal going on. He's fallen off the wagon and hit the ground hard.

Damn love handles.

Damn cupcakes.

* * *

Work gets stressful and even more demanding than usual.

Tony and Gibbs aren't spending as much time together outside of work as they'd like. There's no wailing and gnashing of teeth over it. No arguing or guilt tripping. They don't have time to cry bitter tears, and they'd never bother. It's all "no, boss" and "yes, boss" and "on it, boss." Tony wouldn't have it any other way, and neither would Gibbs. They love working together, challenging each other. And Gibbs loves watching Tony's unexpectedly brilliant mind work through a problem, just like Tony loves watching Gibbs give even the most arrogant lawbreakers the shakedown.

Some asshole (again) brings a dozen fresh doughnuts and leaves them in the breakroom. Tony uses them to soak up the coffee rolling around in his stomach. He's stressed; he's strung out. It's either eat or have sex, but the latter isn't really an option at the moment, not when the team is elbows deep in a hot case.

So he eats.

"It's called self-control," McGee jokes.

"Shut up."

"I'm kidding, Tony."

"Shut up."

McGee and Tony avoid each other for an hour. They get over it and tease Ellie about the hundreds of p and p notices she has to read.

* * *

That night, Gibbs worships at the altar of Tony's love handles. Again.

"Can you stop?" Tony asks.

Gibbs stops. "What's wrong?" He's staring at him. Judging.

"I never used to be this fat, you know," Tony blurts. He feels like an idiot, letting his insecurity bleed all over the place. His face burns with shame. "I mean-" he starts, then stops, because he doesn't really know what he means. He doesn't really know why this is such a big deal for him. Miserably, he shakes his head, "Never mind."

Gibbs isn't known for saying the right things at the right times to a woman, so when he says, "When you're done being an idiot, we can continue," he thinks he ought to headslap himself.

But Tony definitely is not a woman, and instead of igniting an argument, Tony laughs. "That's funny, Boss."

* * *

A case takes them out into the field, and Tony has to chase someone.

The team corners the man on a dead-end street, homes on both sides, quiet except for the barks of backyard dogs. The guy jackrabbits off the road and through a vacant lot.

Gibbs drives the car. Tony's on foot. And over the ear piece, Gibbs says, "Get 'im, Tony."

Tony goes and gets, sprinting over the vacant lot and into the dark. McGee flanks the scene, also on foot, while Gibbs brings the car around to the next block.

At the end of it, Tony's panting and smiling, and the suspect is in custody.

"Good job, McGee," Gibbs says.

"But I didn't-" McGee starts to say.

"You put the cuffs on." Gibbs then looks Tony over with a nod. Good boy.

And all the while, the guy in handcuffs screams, "I want my lawyer!"

* * *

Tony decides to sleep at Gibbs' place. He knows he's welcome; Gibbs never has to hand out invitations.

They fuck in the basement, against the skeleton of the new boat. Then the fucking turns into something slower. And briefly, Tony considers the fact that they're now doing something more meaningful than fucking. He also considers the fact that he likes this, whatever this is. Maybe he shouldn't. Maybe this is starting to feel too much like relationship sex. The kind of sex you can predict.

That's a bad thing, right?

Gibbs jacks him off using all the techniques he knows Tony enjoys, and Tony makes sharp barking noises he can't recall ever making while with a woman.

After Tony comes, Gibbs says, "You're drooling," as he begins the standard love handle massage. It might as well have been an I love you considering the look Gibbs is giving him, a soft half-grinning expression of fondness Tony swears he's never seen before, at least never directed at himself.

Tony quickly puts a hand to his own chin to smear away the spit. That's something new, drooling mid-ejaculation like a pit bull in rut. "Huh." Embarrassing. And then the moment's over because Tony's pushing away Gibbs' hands. "It's a school night," he says. "Gonna hit the rack."

Gibbs nods and reaches to hitch up his pants. Tony does the same, saying, "I'm setting the alarm early, just as a warning. I wanna fit in a run before work."

"Okay."

Tony moves past him, but Gibbs catches him by the arm. He waits before he asks, "You alright?"

Tony smiles. "I'm perfect."

"Yeah you are."

Tony gives him a strange look before climbing the stairs.

He's already sacked out asleep by the time Gibbs finishes up in the basement and heads for bed. And he doesn't wake when Gibbs leans over him to shut off the alarm.

* * *

The next morning Tony barely has time to shower, let alone go on a run. He curses as he digs through the meager stash of work clothes he keeps in Gibbs' bottom dresser drawer, and then paws through the even more meager selection that's hung up in the closet.

"Asshole. Asshole. Asshole."

Downstairs, there's a bakery bagel with cream cheese waiting for him. He grabs it as they head for the door, and all Tony can think to do is snap, "Why didn't you wake me up!"

* * *

Another case blows up at work, and it's all business for the next twelve plus hours. McGee and Tony have been paired up to check a few witness addresses. McGee pulls out a bag of mini Nutter Butters and says, "Thought we might get hungry."

Tony is annoyed until they stop at a diner. He decides to eat a very large hamburger. With bacon.

And cheese.

He moans in delight.

McGee sits across from him, picking at limp chicken tenders without much joy. "Guess I should've gotten the hamburger."

They finish and meet up with Gibbs in the parking lot to go over the next steps needed to close out the case.

McGee says, "Yes, Boss," and heads for the car, while Gibbs holds Tony back and says, "You got ketchup on your face, DiNozzo."

Embarrassed, Tony rubs at his face. "Look good now?"

Gibbs smirks. "You look perfect, honeybuns."


End file.
